


He Would Have To

by bssabrzs



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3374714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bssabrzs/pseuds/bssabrzs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xabi can't go home and Steven can't leave home. Somehow they meet in the middle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Would Have To

**Author's Note:**

> There is mention of the wives, just as a heads up. It is also set to [THIS](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g20Pr_fQyzg) song "Here With Me" by Dido.

For all his books in alphabetical order, shirts arranged by color and "please" or "thank you"s of suit suave etiquette, Xabi couldn't refrain from being reckless when it came to one thing. To one person.

He came home to a dinner plate of cold vegetables and a stern Nagore. Not bothering to explain, after the countless time, how a post-afternoon training session beer with the midfielder turned into hours of face hurting laughter, watching Istanbul replays and vaguely debating philosophical topics.

With Nagore on one side of the bed as if there were battle lines drawn down the mattress, Xabi knew the night would drag on, already adding to the hour-heavy minutes he experienced with his own inner mental torture. It took Nagore’s one hurtful tug of the comforter and sheet for the Spaniard to make up his mind, getting out of bed.

Xabi wondered if perhaps he was a masochist, willingly participating in the rejection he knew was inevitable. Or perhaps he was a martyr, sacrificing his sanity and consciousness for the greater good, for Nagore. Knowing at the very least she deserved this, deserved for him to feel second best in a race he wasn't qualified for. Yet he still went to Steven's house.

It was business as usual in the Gerrard estate. Playtime with squealing voices of happiness and Steven as the monster chasing the other loves of his life. Dinnertime with administrative conversation with Alex of who would drop off the dry cleaning and if next weekend was a good time to visit Steven's parents since the kids missed them. Bedtime with one story each and a kiss to the forehead, a hand lingering on the light switch as he watched them drift off before finally heading to his own bedroom.

Nighttime. With Steven making trips back and forth to the en-suite master bathroom for water, feet pressed to the cold tiles whose only consolation was that he knew he got them from the local home improvement store instead of imported from god knows where like other footballers he knew of. Thrifty. Wise with his money, Steven thought. If only he could be that wise with his thoughts and heart. Not wanting to cause Alex to stir, Steven opted for a few minutes looking out of their bay windows of the bedroom instead of attempting to slip back into the sheets with the skill of a ninja.

It was then two parallel timelines collided. Xabi recognizing Steven's outline in the window, even in the dark. Even in the water soaked city as the rain came down in sheets, the sickly yellow street lamp reflecting slick spots of the pavement. Steven recognizing the distinctive jawline and angled shoulders, even in the dark. Even in the temperature controlled house as the rain came down in sheets, the sickly yellow light from the cracked bathroom door creeping across the carpet.

Watching the determined, drenched man inch his feet apart and widen his stance, Steven knew what that meant. Steven knew that stance. It was one of meticulous preparation and calculating processing. It was Xabi bracing for impact and resilient to whatever happened afterwards. He'd seen it on the pitch; in corners and just outside the box. Steven knew Xabi would stand there all night if he had to. But would he have to?

"Stevie?" the familiar half-asleep feminine voice called out to him, causing the midfielder to slide his forearm down from the cold wall, head hanging in defeat.

He would have to.

Xabi clenched his teeth together, jawline prominent as he dug his heels in and watched Steven's faint silhouette fade away. As he felt the rain seep into the marrow of his bones, chilling him to the core, he wondered how many hours until daybreak. How many hours until the time he should've been slowly waking up, Steven warm and heavy beside him, taking up more space than the midfielder's body seemed possible to take.

For all his books in alphabetical order, shirts arranged by color and "please" or "thank you"s of suit suave etiquette, Xabi couldn't refrain from being reckless when it came to one thing. To one person. To Steven.

**Author's Note:**

> All publicly recognizable persons, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners and are fictional. The author(s) is/are in no way associated with said person(s) being depicted. Any resemblance is purely coincidental.


End file.
